


Stasis

by Chiru



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Injury, Introspection, M/M, Marauders, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-07 05:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17954060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiru/pseuds/Chiru
Summary: Bloody and drawn in the aftermath of a particularly nasty transformation, Remus closes his eyes and let's his mind wander. There is no hurry. Nobody is coming anyway.





	Stasis

When they were young, still getting used to calling themselves the Marauders, they’d sworn to always stay together. Friends for life. Somewhere deep down, Remus always knew this was a silly child’s dream, but he couldn’t help be disappointed as he lay alone in a growing pool of his own blood.

The sad truth was that the lack of school had them falling apart without any apparent resistance at all. They still saw each other regularly for the war efforts, but it had taken only three months before the first of his friends didn’t show up to accompany him on the full moon without an Order labelled excuse. After that it was only natural that no excuse or warning was given. Everybody had their life, after all. It wasn’t like he was their responsibility.

Remus always knew he was going to die because of the wolf. He had just thought that if it didn’t happen in his young years, it wouldn’t happen in his bloody prime either. He’d kind of started to believe he’d reach thirty. Twenty-five at least.

Bloody fool.

His friends had abandoned him and he was alone. Moving out had been a dumb idea. No matter how awkward it was with his father after his mother passed away, it was still better than dying like this. Dying because of something so painfully avoidable.

The wolf had wrecked some serious destruction on the old basement he had locked himself in. The basement had, in return, wrecked some serious destruction on him. His arms and torso were ripped to shreds from where the wolf had tried to force himself through a tiny opening in the ceiling, wood splinters the size of his finger lodged deep into the meat of his upper arms; his face felt torn open, and something he couldn’t see was wedged between his ribs into his back. He must have fallen backwards onto something pointy.

Remus suspected the wolf had been trying to escape until the very last possible minute, until the spasms and quakes of the transformation had forced him to stop. Either way, he was losing blood, fast, and nobody was coming to check on him. Nobody had cared about his transformation before the moon rose, and nobody would care for it now that the moon had set and his blood had been spilled and his life was about to slip through the cracks of the cold stone floor.

He wondered if people would miss him. Sure, his friends would regret, his father would mourn, and they’d all claim his passage a sad thing. But he wondered if something inside of them wouldn’t t go “he suffered so much in life”, and “he didn’t have much to live for anyway” and “it’s probably for the best”.

He wondered if, a month from now, any of them would still think of him. He wondered how long before the people who had claimed to care for him would be able to look at the full moon- a sight he barely remembered from his youngest years- and just be able to enjoy the beauty of it, without even a sliver of recollection blemishing the view.

Time passed, and he bled. He guessed he blacked out for a while.

Remus turned his head to look at where his wand was hidden, and knew without a doubt that it was far out of reach. He doubted he’d have the energy to do much magic, even if he could get his hands on it. He wondered what the point even was. Weren’t they right, after all? Wouldn’t inexistence be better than this slow dying and suffering he has to put up with? There seemed to be so little reason to try to get up. So little reason to try to keep the blood inside his body. So little reason to not just close his eyes and give in. Give up.

He closed his eyes, and his mind painted him the picture of Sirius Black, smiling softly for once, coy and unsure like he had been on Remus’ birthday, now almost 9 months ago. He had just gifted Remus one of the best presents ever: a small nondescript black book containing Geoffrey Ghodeiye’s notes during the only recorded observation of a fluther of Lethifold. The scene was easy to recall, down to James and Peter’s groaning of “Not more books!” and the fading of Sirius’ genuine smile, to be replaced with a smirk at his reply of “Swots gonna swot!”. But the eye-contact had lasted, and, for a moment, Remus had felt keenly understood.

For so long Remus had thought they could be something, something not so much more than friends, but something different, something with another layer that could make them both even happier, bring them both even closer. But Remus had done nothing, and Sirius had done nothing, and thus nothing had happened.

That was alright. Less to lose that way. But he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, if he got to live past this moment, a time would come where they could explore further, beyond casualness and games, into the calm and intimacy that had already coloured many late night conversations in a deserted common room.

How much of their friendship had it just been circumstance? And, now that the big wide world was open and at their feet, his friends had so many opportunities. Sure, there was a looming war and it had started taking its toll on all of them, but they could probably still find moments of peace. Whereas Remus returned home from protection duty to unpaid bills and a cold bed with too few blankets and a nearly empty pillow.

It angered him, actually, and he opened his eyes to glare at the ceiling. He could feel the life drip out of him, and he had tried so hard, struggled his whole life and he had made it this bloody far, only to lose to a single bad transformation? Was he really going to lose all he worked for, trade in all his suffering for no reward, just because some muggle strayed too close to the abandoned house in which he had transformed, just because something agitated the wolf and propelled it to force an escape?

He closed his eyes again, this time in an painful grimace. He saw Sirius’ face once more, now sad and distant, turning away from him with some excuse or another. Burying all their history under the weight of the war and uncertainty and fucking distractions.

Remus solidified his resolve. He wanted to at least know if they could have something. He wanted to look into all of his friends’ eyes and ask them if they’ve got fucking better things to do on the full moon than help him escape death. He wanted to assure his dad that current circumstance was not their fault, and then he wanted to yell at him for letting all this blame and grief and fear infest their relationship. He wanted to put flowers on his mother’s grave one last time and he did not want to die while lying back and bleeding out on this cold goddamn floor while there were Death Eaters murdering and torturing and infecting more people with this same bloody condition! If he were to die, he wanted to take as many of those asshats with him, and he wanted to have his friends by his side, and if he couldn’t do that he wanted to at least go while standing on his own fucking feet!

His eyes flew open, and his rage surged with such strength that he barely needed to speak the charm before his wand was flying into his hand. He focused on the feeling of pack, the reminder of their sacrifice for him, and he refused to believe the world could possibly deprive him of having that again. His voice sounded raspy and low and frighteningly liquid, but the patronus jumped out of his wand with glowing white fur. The enormous wolf stared down at his prone form solemnly, almost like an acknowledgement, then rushed off without needing guidance or command.

Remus closed his eyes one last time. This was not a defeat. He wouldn’t die here. He was just waiting.

When he opened his eyes again it would be to Sirius blasting open the fortified hatch, a whirlwind of righteous fury, and he would feel the soft touch of Sirius’ fingers and the tickle of his hair as he bend over him to see his wounds, and he would sigh to the familiar warmth of Sirius’ first aid healing spells.

Maybe Lily and James would be there: Lily trying to push Sirius away to coat him in even stronger healing magic, chiding him for not taking care of himself in a voice dripping with concern; James would look him in the eye, ignore his wife completely and talk to him calmly, his steadiness easing the panic from all of them.

Maybe Peter would be there, and he would hand him his clothes and turn into Wormtail and hide inside his breast pocket, or curl up in his hand, always a source of silent support during the worst of it. And Remus would be fine.

He waited for the sound of footsteps, refusing to even entertain the thought that this could be his end.


End file.
